


Sensibility

by anneapocalypse



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Getting Back Together, Oral Sex, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Reunion Sex, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:48:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22805122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anneapocalypse/pseuds/anneapocalypse
Summary: "I suppose," said Nureyev, "it would be sensible for us to... wait until this job is finished. To remain focused, of course.""Yeah," Juno said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. You're probably right."Of course it was a good idea. A sensible idea. The right one.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 28
Kudos: 275





	Sensibility

**Author's Note:**

> This is definitely going to be jossed like a month from now but in the meantime please enjoy this humble offering of sappy getting-back-together sex.

It's been a mere two days.

Two days since they both admitted they might like to try things again.

"I suppose," said Nureyev, "it would be sensible for us to... wait until this job is finished. To remain focused, of course."

"Yeah," Juno said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. You're probably right."

Of course it was a good idea. A sensible idea. The right one.

Two days.

Peter goes directly to his quarters after their debriefing, removes his tie and his dress shirt and goes to the sink.

He washes his makeup off, watches his eyeliner run down the drain and then meets his own eyes in the mirror. Rubs his face with two wet hands, slicks back his hair. Sighs.

It was nothing so exciting as the Zolotovna affair. No _Monsieur and Madame Dauphin,_ no showy dancing together. Juno's appearance is already memorable, with the eye. Using the same cover more than once is out of the question.

So they spent the evening as separate guests, unknown to one another.

In theory, it should have been easier. Less distraction, better focus. In actuality Nureyev's eyes could _not_ stop lingering on Juno in that dress—nothing so extravagant as the gown he'd worn to the auction, but satiny and hugging his curves nicely. He could not stop _thinking_ of Juno in his arms on the dancefloor, of his hand in the small of Juno's back.

And of course, every thought he filed away for the moment.

But by the time they returned to the _Carte Blanche_ , every thought he had filed away was spilling back into his mind.

Nureyev puts his shirt back on, buttons it carelessly. Smooths it with his hands to look a little less careless.

He goes to Juno's quarters.

Juno lets him in when he knocks. He's still dressed, his zipper pulled down just an inch or two—like he had been trying to get the dress off, but couldn't get a good grip. Or perhaps he'd just been interrupted.

"Juno," Peter says.

"Nureyev," Juno says.

"To hell with sensible," says Peter.

"Oh, god," Juno says. "I thought you'd never say it."

And then he has Juno in his arms again.

The first kiss is urgent, almost breathless, kindled by a pent-up longing Nureyev has been keeping _filed away_ , or trying to, for days. And if he's being honest, for longer. Since Buddy told him that they were making a stop on Mars, that Juno Steel would be joining them, and he felt for a moment as though all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.

Since he woke up in an empty bed, a heavy understanding in his chest, even before he opened his eyes.

He cups Juno's face in his hands and kisses him with every ache of longing he has buried deep, and not allowed himself to feel. And Juno pulls him close, and kisses him back.

And then the kiss softens, turns slow and searching, and Juno's touch softens with it, hands wandering up and down his back. He could do this all night, Peter thinks, letting his fingers caress Juno's jawline with an answering tenderness. It would be perfectly all right if it went no further than this. This would be enough.

But there is a hunger in Juno's kisses too, and it's a hunger Peter feels right down to his bones. Feels as they press closer to one another, as he feels the whole length of Juno's body against his.

They break, finally, for air, and Juno whispers, "You sure you want this right now?"

"Right now," Peter murmurs, "this is all I want."

It's hard to miss the spark of happiness on Juno's face, the hopeful lift of his countenance that mirrors that heady feeling in Peter's chest. "As long as you're sure."

Nureyev lets a hand drift over Juno's back. "May I give a lady a hand with that zipper?"

There is a pleasing catch in Juno's breath. "A lady would like that."

Peter draws the zipper slowly down Juno's spine with a half-held breath.

They leave the dress pooled on the floor. Peter's dress shirt joins it, and Juno's hands go to work on his slacks, his mouth on Peter's collarbone. Juno, Peter notes, has not had a chance to take his makeup off. The lip is a bit bright for Peter's tastes—he always liked Juno in darker shades, purples and such—but whatever lip stain Buddy's gotten her hands on for Juno, it's a high quality one, very little smudging.

Almost a shame, really.

It's so different from _that night_ , somehow—that magical night in the shining, dizzying relief of having survived Miasma and the Egg and everything else. He can still feel it somewhere deep in his chest, the moment he thought he'd lost Juno forever—hurting all over and weeping openly against the airlock, still calling Juno's name from some desperate seed of hope. And from the moment the airlock reopened and he saw Juno's face, felt his pulse, heard his _voice_ , when Peter still could hardly breathe through his tears—nothing else mattered.

 _That night_ glowed with a fantastical kind of light, gold and gleaming. Every touch a miracle.

Maybe that was just why it couldn't last.

Or maybe that night, in retrospect, took on the mythical quality of the man himself.

Juno Steel, the man who disappeared.

Juno Steel, who is in his arms again.

Juno Steel, who has changed, but who is still _Juno._

Peter takes his time. They have a day before the next phase of the job; it won't be an early morning. They have time. And oh, he wants to take that time.

He takes his time making his way with lips and hands down Juno's body spread before him on the bed, listening to the soft and increasingly longing sounds he draws out of Juno as he works his way over his chest, his stomach, his hips and his thighs.

He takes time with his mouth on Juno, hands holding his hips as Juno gasps, moans and finally begs, arching up under him, crying, "Nureyev, _please—"_ right before coming down his throat.

Peter swallows, pulls off him gently and crawls up Juno's body to rest his full weight on him and kiss him, open-mouthed and heavy. Juno is still panting into the kiss.

When he moves again, Juno reaches for him. "Can you… stay here? Like this? I just… want to look at you."

Peter kisses him again. "Whatever you want."

Juno has a point. For one thing he's nice to look at himself, especially that sweet post-orgasm contentment that steals over his face. Peter takes a moment to savor that.

Juno's looking at him too, a little dreamily, his one eye studying Nureyev's face like he wants to memorize every detail of it. As a man accustomed to remaining nameless and faceless, in his everyday life the feeling of being studied, memorized is a warning sign. It is danger.

Here, in Juno's bed, with the lady looking up at him so… _softly_ , his lips parted slightly in thought, Nureyev is struck by that same feeling he had what seems like an age ago, when he made the decision that would change the course of his future. The choice to give Juno his name.

It is danger, yes.

It's just a danger he wants to fly into headlong.

Juno's eye meets his and he lets out a quiet laugh. "Sorry. I'm staring."

"Stare away," Peter says, with fondness, and does not conceal his own gaze.

Juno is still wearing his eyepatch—the _only_ thing he's still wearing, as it happens. Red satin, coordinating with the dress on the floor. He wonders whether Juno would prefer to take it off, and he knows that at this point, it would probably be all right to ask. But he is loathe to do anything that might make Juno feel self-conscious or remind him of more painful things.

So Peter kisses him instead, and rolls his hips against Juno who is of course still soft, but makes a pleased noise anyway. Peter's own arousal has ebbed a bit during their respite, but it doesn't take long to return.

Juno rubs a thigh between his legs, drawing a pleased gasp from Peter, and his lips curve into a smile. "You want to fuck me?"

Peter shudders, and drags the points of his teeth lightly over Juno's neck, drawing a shiver in turn. He is far past playing hard to get. "Profoundly."

"Good," Juno says, tipping his head back to let Peter get at his neck better. "Ahh. _Please._ "

"Patience," says Peter, pressing kisses into his pulse point.

Juno lets out a shaky laugh. "Listen, Nureyev. I know I've _changed_ and all, but don't push your luck."

Peter laughs. "Juno dear, all I've ever done with you is push my luck."

"Hm. Good point." Juno winks. "Maybe you should push it harder."

Peter remembers then that they're in Juno's quarters and not his own. "Do you have any—"

"In my bag, yeah. Might have to dig but it's there." Nureyev can't help smiling at that, and Juno looks mildly sheepish. "What? A lady likes to be prepared."

"I am grateful, I assure you." It is with reluctance that Nureyev climbs off the bed, retrieves his glasses from the nightstand and goes to find the tube in Juno's bag, buried the familiar everyday clothes that spark memories both fond and bittersweet.

Juno palms the tube from him with fingers deft as any halfway respectable pickpocket. "I got this part."

"I'm happy to assist."

Juno snorts, not unkindly. "Sorry, Nureyev. Not with those nails. Nothing personal."

Nureyev is still wearing his long acrylics from the evening's event. Juno does have a point. As do the nails.

So he contents himself with kneeling between Juno's legs and watching intently as Juno slicks up a few fingers, draws one knee up and reaches under his thigh to sink two fingers into himself. Peter drags slow kisses along his thigh, to the knee and then back down, and when he caresses Juno's calf with his free hand, all the way down to the ankle, Juno gasps, "Hey—" and twitches a little and Peter remembers again _that night_ , remembers finding all the places Juno was ticklish, or… sensitive.

He has no desire to derail things now, so he moves his hand back up the calf, letting his nails graze delicately over Juno's skin, and Juno lets out a quiet moan.

Nureyev pauses with his cheek against Juno's knee to take in the sight of him, spread out soft-eyed and open-mouthed with a warm glow over his skin, his cock twitching and swelling its way back to full arousal, his fingers deep in his lovely, lovely ass.

Juno in a ball gown is elegant, regal; Juno in a tight cocktail dress is alluring and sexy; Juno in slacks and a sweater and that duster he used to wear around the city is handsome, streetwise and rugged.

Juno like this—

He's _so beautiful._

"You gonna watch me all night," Juno says, voice thick with want, "or you gonna get up here and fuck me?"

The word _patience_ dies on Peter's lips.

He crawls up Juno's body, only setting his glasses aside when they're face to face again, and catches Juno's pretty mouth in a kiss before pushing gently inside him. Juno moans into the kiss without breaking it and folds an arm around him. He is hard against Peter's stomach, smearing wetness against him when he moves.

It's good like this. Face to face. Juno's legs wrapping around Peter's hips as he sinks into the tight heat of him, and Juno, almost as an afterthought, reaching up to slip the eyepatch off his face before wrapping both arms tight around Peter.

Peter kisses his cheekbone, gently, below where the scars begin. Then the side of his nose, right on that little bump where one can feel it's been broken and healed. Then the split in his brow, his other cheekbone, the shell of his ear, the corner of his lips. When he leans into a deeper kiss on his mouth and caresses Juno's face, his fingertips touch scar tissue, and Juno does not flinch.

They move slowly at first. A part of Peter doesn't want it to end, wants to savor this, all of it—the sheer pleasure of it and the closeness too. Being wrapped up in Juno Steel like he is the entire world, a galaxy unto himself.

After _that night,_ in the months since, he'd almost managed to talk himself out of all the wild, wonderful, inexplicable things Juno made him feel. In those days it was running away with Juno, sweeping him off his feet and carrying him away to some marvelous adventures, exploring the galaxy together—that was the fantasy. And certainly it still is.

But there's more, too. Maybe something new, maybe something Nureyev always felt but never put into words, and after _that night,_ buried somewhere deep. Not _For Future Consideration_ but _Never Consider Again._ This feeling that what he wants is to _revolve_ with this man like two planets in synchronous orbit. In motion, yes, but always hand in hand in their orbital dance.

Peter Nureyev has never had a home, and the thought of tying himself down to one city or even one planet has always made him—itchy, uncomfortable, like ill-fitting clothes. It still does. But to have Juno in his arms, to fall asleep and wake up beside him every day—

That, perhaps, could be home to him.

Of course it's difficult to _stay_ slow, especially as Juno arches up into him more urgently with every rock of his hips, moaning "Oh, _fuck_ Nureyev—" huskily in his ear, kissing his neck and nipping around his earlobes (and it is _that_ which reminds Peter he never took his earrings off, for heaven's sake, but it's too late to care) _._

"Oh, Juno," he breathes in turn, and picks up his pace and Juno grips him tight enough to leave finger-marks on his back, and before long they are locked together in a desperate rhythm, building fast and aching for release.

Juno's back arches, his eyes close, and he lets out a long, wordless cry of pleasure as he comes hot against Peter's stomach, and Peter follows quickly after, smothering his own exclamation against Juno's lips as he pulses inside him.

For a moment they just lie there, forehead to sweaty forehead and panting heavily, until he feels Juno's hand in his hair, stroking damp locks back from his face.

"That was," Juno says, breathlessly. "Wow."

" _Wow_ indeed," Peter murmurs, and shifts position, laying his head on Juno's chest. Just for a moment, to catch his breath.

But Juno makes a pleased noise, and keeps on stroking his hair, and it's _very_ relaxing, and Peter thinks, maybe, he might just stay here for a while.

Nureyev wakes in the morning with the immediate knowledge that he is not in his own bed. It is not an unpleasant feeling at all, not when the sheets still smell like Juno, and—

and Juno is here, beside him. Stirring as Nureyev rolls over to face him, reaches to touch, just to quietly remind himself that this is real.

"You," Peter says softly, "are a sight to wake up to."

Juno smiles, a disarmingly warm and open smile, and reaches up to brush a lock of Peter's hair out of his face. "Yeah, well. I'm sorry it took this long."

END

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
